


Knight to E3

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Knotting, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Slurs, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim walks in on something he definitely shouldn't have but also totally should have walked in on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight to E3

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freakylemurcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for freakylemurcat's "All I want is Chekov getting fucked hard by Spock, while Kirk, having started the whole thing/come across them/been invited to join,uses his ensign's mouth to the best of his ability. +1 Jim has absolutely no shame, and constantly talks through the whole thing. +10 Chekov's loving it. +100 Alien!penis" prompt on the [Star Trek ID Kink Meme](http://strek-id-kink.livejournal.com/2836.html?thread=1079060#t1079060).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The doors to Spock’s quarters are locked, and that’s Jim’s second clue that something’s wrong. The first was Spock missing their chess match, which _never_ happens. Fortunately, being the captain does come with certain benefits. In the interest of checking up on his missing crewmen, Jim overrides the lock and strolls through, barely hearing the doors slide shut behind him.

It’s opened up into Spock’s living room, and Jim freezes in his tracks. Spock freezes too, and beneath him, a riled up Ensign Chekov makes a sharp keening sound. Then he spots Jim and tenses up, still for barely a second before he moans.

It’s obvious why. He’s bent over the glass coffee table, pants completely missing, his arms pinned elbow to wrist against his back with one of Spock’s hands, his head held down with the other. Spock’s fingers are tight in Chekov’s curls, and Spock’s shirt is hiked up, exposing the base of his cock, buried balls-deep in Chekov’s ass.

Jim’s absolutely speechless. He doesn’t appear to be the only one. Well, Chekov’s whimpering, but that’s different. Spock’s hips aren’t moving though, so Vulcan cocks must be different in that regard—maybe it’s vibrating inside poor Chekov. Or something like that. Jim colours. He shouldn’t be thinking that. Spock’s the first to break the near-silence by saying levelly, “I apologize, Captain. I had forgotten our engagement.” His cheeks are a little green.

“You forgot?” Jim repeats hollowly. He’s trying to look at Spock’s determinedly neutral face, but instead he’s mostly eyeing Chekov’s young, ripe ass, pink from abuse, and his wet, open lips, tongue hanging out. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown, his cheeks are bright red, and his curls are slicked to his forehead with sweat. He looks absolutely _scrumptious._

Spock says, “I was... distracted.”

“I see.”

There’s another furtive pause, and then Spock fills in, “I apologize, Captain. I am aware how inappropriate this is, but as my knot has already inflated, I am afraid I cannot pull out without causing Ensign Chekov severe damage.”

Jim’s eyebrows feel like they’re going to go through the roof. “Your... your knot?” Jim’s throat is dry. He didn’t... know Vulcans had those...

Chekov makes another high-pitched whining sound, and Jim clears his throat and looks down, belatedly asking, “Er... you okay there, Ensign?”

“I am so sorry, Keptin,” Chekov whimpers pathetically, “Ahh! Oh, it is still zhrobbing... ohh...” He bites his lip to stop himself, chewing it adorably. His eyes flutter closed in half-embarrassment, half-pleasure. He looks like a porn star.

Jim’s always been particularly susceptible to that sort of thing. ...He really should’ve left the moment he came in and saw all this. But he already didn’t.

Spock draws his attention back by asking, “Would you like to join, Captain?”

Head snapping around, Jim feels like his eyes are going to bulge right out of his skull. “What?”

“Would you like to join?” Spock repeats calmly. Chekov makes an elated noise that couldn’t be anything but encouragement. Or maybe Jim’s just too horny to think straight—is it just him, or is it hot in here? Vulcan temperatures, right. His pants are too tight. “Ensign Chekov has more than one orifice, and I assure you he is quite adept at pleasing his superiors.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo, Mr. Spock?”

“A mere compliment, Jim.” Jim. They’re getting intimate now. Jim swallows.

Fuck yes, he’d like to join. He finds himself eyeing Chekov like a hungry lion, and it takes a considerable amount of energy to reel it in and act like a decent person. Chekov’s still writhing sensually, still held down—Spock’s hands haven’t moved at all. “Would that... would that be right? Are you two...?” He knew Spock broke up with Uhura a few months ago, but he had no idea about _this_.

“A casual arrangement, for now. We are... seeing how things go. And I admit that both of us have expressed... interest... in you before. Although I do regret the proposition coming about in this manner.”

Jim doesn’t. He almost can’t believe it. Of course he has a reputation for this, and of course he and Spock obviously always had something, he’d have to be a fool not to notice, and of course Chekov’s always good eye candy, but this.... He licks his lips. He looks at Chekov again and asks, despite Chekov not looking entirely coherent, “Ensign?”

“Oh, please,” Chekov whimpers, looking incredibly desperate and needy and wanton as all hell. “Please just fuck me. Keptin, I am so sorry, but oh, he is still mowing in me and— _ahhh_ —it is so big...”

“But do you...?” Jim coughs. That sounded like a yes, but he needs to be absolutely sure.

Chekov’s striking hazel eyes open wide and beautiful, and they look up at him beneath knitted brows, pleading as his lips beg, “Keptin, _please_ fuck me wizh Commander Spock, I hawe always wanted you _so bad_...”

That’s all Jim can take. He tried to be good, he really did. But that is absolutely, completely, one hundred percent irresistible. Jim’s on his knees in front of the coffee table in no time, fiddling with the zipper of his pants. Chekov turns to face it, chin against the glass, although he still can’t look up due to Spock’s tight grip. Jim assumes it must be some sort of power play they enjoy, because it certainly doesn’t look like Chekov’s bound to misbehave. He looks positively rapturous, eyeing the bulge in Jim’s pants with the hunger of a starving man. As Jim’s getting his cock out, he breathes, “Spock, what are you waiting for?”

“Your order, Captain.” And his hips immediately start moving again; he slams in with such force that it throws Chekov’s body forward, smashing his face into Jim’s crotch. He’s just gotten his cock out, and Chekov voraciously licks it before he’s yanked back, only to be pounded forward again. Jim sits up properly and holds it out, not even needing to pump it—he’s hard as a rock. He knows he’s well endowed, but he still enjoys the awed look on his ensign’s face.

Chekov slides onto it as soon as he can, jaw stretching wide and lips in the perfect ‘o.’ He takes an inordinate amount right away, making gagging noises but still going—perhaps because Spock’s shoving him down it—and then another harsh thrust from Spock sends him all the way down. Jim screams as the head of his cock plunges down Chekov’s hot throat, tight and pulsing around him. It’s fucking _amazing._

In a way, he misses Chekov’s whimpering already. But Chekov’s still trying to do it, he’s just choking on cock so it’s muffled, and it reverberates up Jim’s dick like a harmonica, absolutely beautiful. His head lulls back on instinct, but he snaps it forward again and keeps it focused—Jim wants to see and memorize every detail.

It’s flawless. The most wonderful spectacle Jim’s ever fallen into. Chekov’s shirt is still on, but that hint of Starfleet only adds to the debauchery, the way his arms are folded back against it divine. He’s utterly helpless, and yet he’s clearly _loving_ it. He sucks on Jim’s cock like a pro, and he rides Spock’s dick even better. Jim and Spock automatically fall into tandem, shoving Chekov one way and then back another, swinging him back and forth between them and riding him hard. Chekov really is a wiz kid, the best at everything he touches. It’s like he was made to suck cock. He’s enthusiastic and eager, busy with his tongue and hollowing out his cheeks, his moist lips look gorgeous against Jim’s reddened, engorged shaft. His ass is just as pretty a picture, and seeing the end of Spock’s alien cock is doing things to Jim’s head. He wants to see this knot—wants to feel it, even—and is it really throbbing? Fuck, why didn’t Jim investigate that sooner? The minute Spock and Uhura broke up, Jim should’ve been on that.

He’ll have to make up for lost time. Poor little Chekov. He’s such a small thing; he must be tight as hell. Spock looks like he’s massive—the girth is immeasurable, and everything else about him is long, so it stands to reason his dick must be too. Spock’s still fully clothed everywhere else, but the sight of him during _sex_ is still driving Jim wild. His conservative first officer, completely undone. Overridden with ecstasy and moving with reckless abandon, though somehow still graceful. Spock’s face is struggling to stay neutral, but Jim can see the wave of pleasure underneath. Jim’s heart is nearly beating out of his chest, working up a sweat already.

“I can’t believe you went after _Chekov_ ,” he grunts without thinking, because if there’s one thing Jim can’t do during sex, it’s think. He can certainly talk, though. Spock lifts an eyebrow, fingers raking through Chekov’s soft hair.

“He... presented a case rather difficult to refuse...” The pauses could be carefully calculated, but Jim think it’s more likely he’s just distracted. Spock distracted by sex...

“I wanna see your cock,” Jim blurts. On a whim he looks down and groans, as Chekov sucks particularly hard, “You like it, Ensign?”

Chekov absolutely _moans_ : obvious agreement. “Yeah, I bet you do,” Jim hisses. He knows he should stop, but damnit, it feels so good and he’s losing himself to his usual habits. “You love it, don’t you, you little slut?”

“Jim,” Spock hisses warningly. But Chekov goes wild, tongue lapping at the underside and suction tight around the head and Chekov’s hands straining against Spock’s grip to _touch._ Jim snickers.

“Yeah? You like dirty talk? Of course you would, you’re clearly a filthy whore, riding all your superiors’ cocks like this...”

Chekov’s bouncing wildly between them, trying to fuck himself harder, like that’s even possible. His nipples must be rubbed raw against the coffee table, sweating through his shirt, cock probably trapped against the glass. Fuck, why isn’t he naked? He should be all the way naked. He should be fucked in every position, nailed against every surface, ridden raw in the captain’s chair and strapped down in sickbay and examined from every angle...

 _Fuck_ , and then there’s _Spock._ “And you...” Jim growls, in his raunchiest voice, staring strong enough to bore holes in his first officer’s head, “...get over here...”

Spock lunges across the distance, and Jim meets him halfway, their mouths smashing together and their tongues already out, ready to fight for dominance. Jim lets one hand dive into Spock’s dark hair, silky and sleek, and the other he uses to grab Chekov. He pushes Spock’s hand away, taking charge himself. Spock uses the freedom to grab the back of Jim’s neck, and oh lord, those _hands_. Spock always did know just what to do with them.

It’s impossible to keep going, even though Jim wants this to last forever. How’d he ever end up in the middle of this? Spock tastes warm and a little spicy, soft and wet. Jim parts their lips and rests his forehead against Spock’s, hips going crazy and mouth hissing, “Yeah, fucking take my cock, whore, fuck _yes_...” And then it’s all too much.

His fists clench in both men’s hair, and his hips grind in, and Chekov chokes as Jim’s cock explodes in his mouth. Chekov sucks it all down, swallowing again and again, taking the heavy load right down his throat. Jim can’t fathom how Spock’s managing to resist, but he doesn’t come until Jim’s all finished. It’s easy to tell, because Spock makes a languid hissing noise and leans forward, head falling, hips staying perfectly still. Jim lets his flagging cock slip out of Chekov’s mouth, and Chekov completely wails. Jim falls back on his ass and just watches, feeling bizarrely honoured.

It’s beautiful, and it’s sick, and it’s strange. Spock jerks Chekov upright by the hair, and Chekov wails and lets himself be exposed. Jim nearly gasps—he can literally see Chekov’s taut stomach start to bulge with the way it’s being filled with Spock’s cum, and the thought of Spock _knotting_ him up and keeping it in there is almost enough to make Jim immediately hard again. Chekov’s neglected prick is smaller and pink and curved up towards his stomach, tied around the base with a black cockring, and he begs, “Oh, oh, Spock, Keptin, _please!_ ”

Spock settles back onto the couch behind him. Chekov’s still glued to his crotch, so when they’re pulled back and sitting firmly on the cushions, Chekov’s right in Spock’s lap. Spock still holds him tight, and Spock asks, “Jim, as my hands are full, would you be so kind as to relieve Pavel?”

First name basis, Jim notes. That used to just be for him. Smiling and nodding, Jim tucks himself back into his pants and gets to his feet, walking around the coffee table to take another seat on the couch. He reaches over and tugs the cockring off—Chekov bursts instantly with a howl, arching back into Spock. He gets it all over his own shirt and thighs. Jim bends down to look under them, getting a differently angled view on the base of Spock’s dick.

A part of him wants to ask the obvious—what now?

But the rest of him just says, “I have to stick around to see this.”

“The swelling will have gone down by the time I am able to pull out, so you will not see it,” Spock says evenly. Chekov’s a panting wreck, lying back against him. Spock finally lets go and lets Chekov relax, even petting his stomach fondly. Wanting to confirm that affection, Jim reaches over and strokes Chekov’s cheek. An hour ago, it would’ve seemed highly inappropriate; now it feels totally reasonable.

Chekov smiles brightly at him, mewling, “Zhank you, Keptin.” His cheeks are totally flushed, clearly embarrassed but happy.

“I regret to say that I may not be able to make our chess game, Jim,” Spock adds. “I am likely to be inside Pavel for at least half an hour.”

“Thirty minutes?” Jim’s a little shocked. He looks at Chekov and has to ask, “You’re alright with that?”

“Mhm,” Chekov chirps, nodding. He’s got his head leaning on Spock’s shoulder, nuzzled up to Spock’s face. “Meester Spock is wery good to me. I like it wery much.” Jim chuckles. Of course he does. Who wouldn’t like to be stuck on Spock’s dick and forced to cuddle with him for thirty minutes?

But that still doesn’t explain where that leaves Jim, and he finds himself looking at Spock for answers, wondering, “So... was this a one-time thing, or...?”

“That is up to you, Captain. Although our preference would be longer.” There’s something special in Spock’s eyes when he says it, like there often is between the two of them. Chekov nods in agreement. 

Jim’s starting to wonder if they planned this, having him walk in. It’s certainly a case very difficult to refuse.

Mostly for an excuse to stay, Jim asks, “Do you have a chessboard?”

“Naturally,” Spock says. “It is in the trunk to the left of my bed.”

“I’ll get it,” Jim decides, making a captain’s executive decision. “We’re not giving up our chess routine; we’re just adding Chekov to it.” Chekov smiles brightly at being included, and it makes Jim’s heart utterly melt. “At least it’ll give poor Chekov something to think about other than how full you’re making him.”

Chekov moans loudly, and then he whimpers, “At least... at least it is not zhrobbing anymore...”

As Jim’s walking away, Spock says almost too quietly to hear, “You love it when it does that.” When Jim glances over his shoulder, Spock’s nibbling Chekov’s ear, and Chekov’s laughing.

Jim’s stomach is a warm bacchanalia of butterflies, and despite just having one of the most intense orgasms of his life, he thinks he’ll be ready to go again in precisely thirty minutes.


End file.
